Passion's Purpose
by CMBaggs
Summary: The less than ideal life of the Sith Inquistor, Darth Nox, before her discovery and swift climb to power. A one shot I wrote while impatiently waiting for the release of SWTOR.


_A sizzling crackle, followed by the eager hum. Akira could feel the heat of her trusted companion, glowing scarlet hot and fervent. She held her saber as the musician held an instrument, firm, masterful, loving. Strafing her opponent, her soft robes glided with her over the marble floor of the temple. The opponent wore dark pants and a tunic, swinging around two violet sabers with reckless abandon. There was fury, but there lacked grace and style. No passion for the art of this greatest of dances._

_The dervish erupted, her opponent charging in with the hopes of unbalancing her and instead met with parrying hums and the buzzes and pops of denial, all foreseen and expected and greeted with the screaming of a single blade of crimson energy guided by the calm and composed hand of a trained dancer, waiting, waiting, waiting until at last they broke free of one another and Akira unleashed the storm, a crackling barrage that riddled the challenger, lifted him from the ground before dropping him, smoking, at her feet…_

"Akira!"

The girl awoke with a violent shake and the sound of Noola's voice. "What is the matter with you?" the older girl demanded. Her orange lekku twitched irritably.

Akira sighed. It had seemed so real. "I'm sorry. I – it was another dream."

"I have no use for such nonsense. Get your rest," Noola said with a yawn. "Men do not pay for dark circles and puffy skin." She settled back into sleep, turning away from her bunk mate.

Akira wiped the sweat from her bronzed brow. She surveyed their chamber in the growing light, watching the other sleeping forms in the predawn haze with only a fleeting jealously. Let them be content. Akira wanted more than this gilded existence. Just another pretty face tethered to a simple fool.

Her master had wealth enough, a sense for business, yes. Akira could see that. His little house of pleasures was always full; certainly more so than any dull cantina with their sterile no touch policies. At Dorak's, everything had a price. It was his lack of perception, there was laid bare that his ambition stopped at the acquisition of credits. He saw no further than to add a new course to his carnal menu, to increase the value of his product, to cut cost, to maximize profits. Power - true power, surely, could not be contained solely in the finite measure of credits. The whispers in the back of her mind promised something greater. A life of passion and purpose. It did not help that the dreams were becoming more frequent.

Akira forced herself to rise with the other girls, tying her warm cinnamon tresses into a knot and followed them into the steam baths. Sparkling white rooms lined with several spotlessly clean plasteel seats, enough to accommodate every pleasure girl in the district. Absentminded, Akira scrubbed her skin until it was shiny with raw ache.

"It seemed so real," she said. The scent of ozone and burnt fat still haunted her nose. And the light saber had felt so tangible. She thought that the grip of a weapon would feel heavy and terrifying with the weight of its designed purpose. She had not imagined that it would feel so liberating or be so beautiful.

"You should focus more on your dance," Noola said, and Akira realized that she had spoken out loud. "We have no time for dreams."

"A dream?" Deidra asked, pouring water over her blond hair. "About?"

"I don't know…. I think I dreamt that I was a Jedi."

"Now you know for sure that it was just your imagination. I don't think I've ever even seen one!" Noola said. "Knights. Defenders of the Galaxy. Champions of the people. Yet they never darken our door or help us when we need."

Akira gave a weak smile. It was true.

"I hear that they cannot love," Diedra continued, wringing out her hair. "It seems a sad waste to me."

"I was told once, years ago, that it is a Mystery," Akira said. "My grandmother said that to use their power they must be in total control of their emotions at all times."

"How tedious!" Noola said. She giggled, putting her hand to her mouth coyly. She was always in form. "Then I dare to say that they aren't really men. Or women."

"Not all men are pleased in the same ways…" Deidra said in a low voice. She glanced around the bath house quickly before continuing. "I had a patron yesterday who… liked my feet."

"When it comes to the whims of men behind closed doors," Noola said, "nothing surprises me anymore."

"I know what men want," Akira insisted. "I just look at them and I just… know. Most of the time I can convince them that they are satisfied with talking to me or watching me dance."

"Maybe if you focused more on your dance they would want more…" Noola began.

"I have not heard Dorak complain of my earnings," Akira responded sharply. "If I recall correctly, I beat you in income for the past 2 months."

"You've been lucky."

The way the harem spent their daylight hours would have fooled a farmer into thinking that they were ladies of leisure. They gossiped and practiced their dancing and singing. Always they honed their craft to become more valuable. All in the hopes that they might earn their freedom once they were too old to be of further use to their master.

Once the afternoon had been wasted away they would dress themselves in their scant silken costumes and anoint themselves with delicate perfumes. Generally, they were content to allow the men to enter the House and peruse the stock at their leisure. One man was not so different from the others when you came down to the basic facts, no matter what race he belonged to. But on that particular day, Akira laid eyes on a man who compelled her to take initiative. Tall and resplendent in elaborate robes and plasteel armor, he stood out, even from the stream of the usual clientele. She steeled herself and approached him boldly. She ran her delicate hands across the luxurious crimson and ebony fabrics encasing his chest and shoulders and poured his drink.

"I have never seen you before," she said, flicking up her large brown eyes to meet his at the rehearsed moment. Icy blue. "What brings you to Nar Shaddaa?"

"I'm in the market for something special, you could say."

"Well, then perhaps you've come to the right place? It's a pity we've never met sooner."

He smiled a thin predatory smile and traced the line of her jaw with a black gloved hand. "It's my loss, I suppose."

_How has no one found her until now?_

She knew he had not spoken the question out loud. Instead she batted her thick lashes. Smiling coyly she leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

"There are ways to make up for lost time," she suggested.

It had been that simple for him to agree to pay the sum for a private viewing.

The music rolled through her like thunder, the passion gathering like the pitch of a lightning storm. Here, on stage, she felt free. Despite the gold plated neurocollar at her throat. Here she was in control. Her body obeyed her commands as she twirled and swayed, her scant silken costume only augmenting the ripeness of her feminine curves.

Her patron drank in her seductive dance. He did not disturb her. Nor take the usual liberties afforded to someone who had paid prime credits for a private show. At least, not until she had finished. Then he pulled off his gloves.

"Come," he beckoned, gesturing to his lap.

"You enjoyed my dance," she said, sweetly. Not so much a question as a statement. Like the others he would nod in blank acquiescence. "Surely I can interest you in another."

He smirked and inclined his head as though regarding the work of a child. Despite his aristocratic veneer, she sensed an intense, primal current within him. What had drawn her to this one?

"Impressive," he said. "But I know my mind. Come to me."

Fear and excitement filled her, tingling on her golden skin. She complied, straddling him, giving in obediently to his touch. His kisses were like bites, uninhibited and ravenous.

"How did one such as you end up here," he asked, drawing his finger down the centre of her cleavage.

"Born to a family blessed with too many daughters," she said flippantly. "It is the way of things."

He seemed to consider this but again he did not say what he thought. Instead he asked, "You do not wish for more? A peaceful life? Freedom?"

"Peace?" Akira demanded. "In this galaxy?"

_And what good would freedom be if I did not have the power to maintain it for myself? _

"No, my good lord," Akira said. "I have only passion."

He smirked.

"That, my dear, is a great truth. That is a start."

"Then give in," she purred, almost pleading. She kissed him, a deep lingering embrace that left them both breathless. _Take me with you!_

He pulled away, as if he had heard her most desperate cry.

"Come with me," he said. She dared not refuse him. Akira followed her patron out into the crowded beverage room, followed him to her master. She would have followed him through Hoth or fire.

Dorak sat at the bar, conversing with the bartender and another client, basking in another night of great attendance. Her patron strode up to her master and tapped his shoulder. Dorak looked over his shoulder at the man.

"I am taking this girl with me," the man said. Her master laughed.

"I'm thrilled that you enjoyed her, but she is not for sale."

Akira's heart dropped.

"I am taking her," Akira's patron reiterated. "Her true potential is wasted here."

"Yes. She has so much potential," Dorak began, almost echoing the man's suggestion. "But… Akira's my top earner!" Dorak protested, perking up suddenly. The man glared at him.

"She has made you enough money," the patron said. His voice was imposing. He stepped forward, leaning over Dorak. "In fact, you feel indebted to her. You owe her not just her freedom, but also her earnings."

"Yes…, you are right."

His ship was sleek and pallid, humming and blinking with a multitude of panels. How she loved the sight of space! Her mother had warned that it was frightening, the very vastness of it. But Akira saw only wonder. The planets floating in the expanse like dust in sunlight. Staring out into the endless expanse of unknown, she finally found her voice again.

"Where are you taking me," she asked.

"Korriban," he said. She had heard of it, in blustery conversation from those who pretended to have been there. A harsh world, home to an even harsher dogma. Why did he wish to bring her there, of all places?

"I do not know whether to call you hero or master," she said. A small, self deprecating smile found its way to her lips. Somehow she had inkling. This was no Jedi. Nor did her destiny lay with that vaunted Order. Jedi did not give in to the pleasures of flesh. They were devoid of ardor. "Can I at least know your name?"

"You know all you need know. And you?" he approached her, his hands clasped behind his back. "You have left your name behind you, my child. Perhaps, in time, you will prove worthy. A Sith may choose you. You shall be an apprentice. Only then will you be worthy of a name."


End file.
